The Blessings of Old Friends
by alohamora080
Summary: "One of the blessings of old friends is that you can afford to be stupid with them." First Place in Morning Lilies's "Yellow Rose Bowl."


22 June 1996

The flourishing embers of the fireplace flickered golden in the otherwise dimly lit bedroom, and Minerva McGonagall wiggled her toes as she pulled her tartan blanket more tightly around her shoulders. Leaning back in her armchair, she sighed wearily, feeling the warmth course steadily through her body. It might have only been four days since she had last been at Hogwarts, but it felt like much longer. Perhaps it was because being at St. Mungo's had been nothing short of a completely horrid experience.

She had always hated hospitals.

Flicking a few strands of her uncharacteristically bedraggled black hair out of her eyes, Minerva placed her shockingly pale arms on either side of her chair, and attempted to push herself upwards, slowly. But, then the familiar stab of pain shot through her back, and she gasped, relenting.

"Oh, Minerva!"

Minerva jerked in surprise, turning towards the doorway. Pain ripped through her back once again, and Minerva groaned softly, closing her eyes.

"Don't move, now," a soft voice murmured. "Here—let me help you up." A large, warm hand closed around the curve of her back, and Minerva frowned, but did not protest, as she found herself being lifted upwards slightly, into a much more comfortable position.

She looked up. A pair of bright brown eyes stared concernedly at her. "Hello, Pomona," she said weakly, a hint of a tired smile playing at her lips. "How are you?"

"Never mind me," Pomona nipped lightly. "Are you all right? Would you like me to get you anything—a cushion, perhaps? A cup of tea—?"

"Pomona," Minerva interrupted, as firmly as she could muster.

Pomona stopped and stared at Minerva, biting her lip. Finally, Minerva sighed in defeat, "A cup of tea would be lovely, actually. Thank you."

Pomona nodded, approaching the old-fashioned tea service at the back of the bedroom. She immediately began bustling around, heating water and cleaning cups. "I almost didn't believe Albus when he told me you were back!" she called, laughing. "You'd only been in St. Mungo's for a few days—I couldn't imagine they'd let you go that easy—"

"Well, you were right, they didn't," Minerva muttered under her breath, not meaning for Pomona to hear.

But, Pomona swiveled around, eyebrows raised. "What was that?"

Minerva looked up, panicked. And, with no choice left but to explain, she hesitantly began, "They didn't exactly…let…me go."

Pomona put her hands on her hips, expression unusually grim. "Minerva McGonagall, do not tell me you are at Hogwarts under illegal circumstances!"

"No," Minerva argued feebly. "Not illegal, per se."

Pomona's eyes narrowed faintly.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "I might have—conveniently—er, altered a few of the numbers on my weekly health report to favor my condition—only ever-so-slightly," she added hastily, spotting the appalled look that had surfaced on the other professor's round face.

"Merlin's beard, Minerva!" Pomona exclaimed, stunned at her best friend. "In what manner of speaking is that _not_ illegal?"

"I didn't change them that much," protested Minerva, her voice peculiarly small. "Only just enough for them to decide I was well enough to be sent back home."

Pomona covered her face with her hands, turning back to the tea service. Nervously, she began piling cups, pots, and saucers onto the tray. "I really ought to tell Albus about this, oughtn't I?" she mumbled.

"I think he's already guessed," Minerva revealed bitterly. "Why else hasn't he let me out of my room at all for the past day?"

"Because he's worried about you, of course!" Pomona contended, a desperate glint in her eyes. "We all are! Minerva, you should be in St. Mungo's—!"

"No, I shouldn't," snapped Minerva. "I haven't been to St. Mungo's, for any reason, since nineteen eight-five. There's no reason for me to be there now, Pomona."

Pomona was silent. And, as she neatly arranged the tea tray on the small table by the foot of Minerva's armchair, Minerva saw a flash of understanding cross the younger professor's face.

Minerva averted her eyes.

"How would you like your tea?" Pomona asked lightly.

Minerva arched a brow. "Er—just one spoonful of sugar should suffice."

Pomona hummed softly to herself, measuring out a spoonful. Minerva watched her warily, waiting for the explosion. But, nothing came.

Still not taking her eyes off Pomona's unusually quiet form, Minerva took a sip of her tea, breathing deeply it warmed her lips and throat. Suddenly, Pomona giggled. Minerva looked up. "What's so funny?" she asked, feeling somewhat amused herself.

"I was just remembering how many times Elphinstone asked you to marry him," Pomona revealed, chortling again. Her eyes had lit up. "He'd come to Hogwarts every afternoon. Remember, Minerva?"

Minerva stared at Pomona, somewhat stunned. "I—well, yes—of course, I remember—"

"And, do you remember what he used to say?" Pomona continued, beaming at her older friend. "It was the same, old speech, every time—'Minerva, you are truly the most efficient and gifted employee I have ever had, but, if you'll have me—"

"—I would like you to be something more,'" Minerva finished, the smallest of smiles tugging her lips up. "Goodness, he never would give up on me."

"Never," Pomona agreed, positively shaking with laughter now. "He even used to ask Albus to talk to you on his behalf!"

"Oh, yes," Minerva acknowledged, chortling quietly. She placed her cup back in its saucer, spinning it round and round distractedly. "I can't count the number of times Albus used to call me up to his office to talk about it."

"He was a good man, Elphinstone," Pomona declared, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "He was good for you."

Minerva said nothing, staring down at her lap. She could feel the familiar acrid burning sensation in her eyes and nose, so she pursed her lips together and swallowed deeply. "He was," she whispered. She looked up. "I'm being stupid, aren't I? It's been over a decade—I know—I should move on—but, being back in St. Mungo's—it just brought back too many memories—" she broke off, as the eleven-year-old memory flashed across her eyes. Rushing down the hallway. Choking on the sour, pungent smell of over-cleanliness. Being kept away from the body whilst the Healers tended to his arm.

Being told it was too late.

"Minerva," Pomona breathed sympathetically, patting the other woman's pale hand. "I didn't realize you were still hurting, after all these years. You should have said something—"

"I'm not!" Minerva piped up at once. "I'm not hurting—it's nothing, Pomona—just being stupid." She sniffed.

There was a small pause. Then—"You know, a wise man once told me that one of the blessings of old friends is that you can afford to be stupid with them," Pomona told her, a knowing smile playing on her kindly features.

"Oh!" Minerva let out a slightly strangled chuckle. "Oh my—I'd forgotten—Elphinstone—he used to say that all the time—"

"It was his favorite thing to say," Pomona murmured, nodding. "I used to think he'd gone batty."

"So did I," Minerva agreed, shaking her head in delight. She looked up at the ceiling, eyes gleaming. "Well, who knew you were right all along?"

"Albus, maybe," Pomona laughed—looking distinctly like her twelve-year-old schoolgirl self, Minerva noticed, with a rush of fondness for her old friend. "But, only because he's just as loopy as your husband used to be."

Minerva smiled.

"Oh—I almost forgot," Pomona said suddenly, reaching into her robes. Eyebrows knitting slightly, she fumbled around in her pocket. "Ah!" Her expression cleared, and, from the depths of her cloak, she pulled out a single yellow rose.

It was delicate and fresh—probably just bloomed, Minerva noted, as she reached out to receive the flower from Pomona. She gazed at it, turning it over and over in her palm, watching its soft, moist, golden petals brush her ashen knuckles. Several drops of water gathered between the creases on her fingers. Minerva looked up at Pomona, chin trembling.

"Longbottom found it in the Greenhouse, this morning," Pomona said gently. "It's for you—I know how much you like these."

Minerva leaned in slightly, letting the crisp, lush scent of the flower waft about her nose. Suddenly, she was forty-seven years old again, sitting by the Black Lake. And, there was Elphinstone, down on one knee, his expression radiating an optimism, so powerful, it made her weak at the knees. A yellow rose lay in his hands.

"Oh, Pomona—thank you," she whispered, permitting Pomona to lean forward and hug her. And, as she returned the hug, wrapping her thin arms around her friend's warm frame and resting her chin on her shoulder, Minerva closed her eyes tightly, releasing a shuddering breath as her tears finally spilled over.

* * *

Hi everyone! :D Goodness, it's been ages since I've last posted a one-shot! Sorry if it's terrible—I'm a little rusty. Anyway, this is for Morning Lilies's Yellow Rose Bowl: a friendship competition! I hope y'all like it!


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